Lost
by Semebay
Summary: England was a land of peace, until the threat of war hung overhead. The heir to the Kirkland line disappears, and a hero from America stumbles onto a strange sight in a forest in England. Rating it "teen" to be safe.
1. Prologue

_A/N: I should probably note that this AU isn't like my others. This one actually has countries with similar names, but a very different setting. This is because I can't make up names for shit._

_I'll upload chapter one later today when I fix my computer._

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><p>England was a beautiful place. There may not have been many mountains to match the beauty of the lands in the east, but the thriving forests and lush fields drew many into the cities and towns nestled within them. People laughed and danced, animals were driven from pasture to pasture to graze, and the country was peaceful under their royal family.<p>

Of course, the peace was simply a cover for the inevitable future of carnage and chaos of the coming years. The land of the Danes across the sea wasn't in poor condition. Their lands rivalled those of England, but they were a fighting people. They wanted to conquer and rule their way across the globe, and the people of England were unlucky enough for their shores to be within sight.

While the people of England were unaware of the threat across the shores, the royal family was already feeling the pressure. There were spies within their closest circles, and executions were performed in the strictest secrecy. The royal family was fighting their attackers, waging a silent war against the power of the Danes. The public was unaware of the turmoil within their upper echelons.

At least, they were until the youngest son and heir to the throne went missing. At first, it wasn't noticed. The castle had fallen silent, but the people simply took it as a sign that quiet preparations for the second eldest's birthday were under way. They hadn't noticed that the young Kirkland was not frequenting the town any more. If anything, they noticed that the town was slightly quieter, and the local pub had an excess of beer that had never been there before.

Then the cavalry had ridden out, and it became obvious who was missing. The combative youth was gone, and it became obvious that there was a tense, almost hostile cloud hovering over the villages and towns. The threat of the Danes loomed over them, and mothers ushered their children inside during the days, letting their husbands protect the home from the invasion that everyone felt was sure to come. Villages on the eastern coast were abandoned as their people moved inward, and knights swept through the land on a mission, while archers and other soldiers occupied the abandoned villages in preparation for an invasion.

Months passed, cavalries came and went, and the people were afraid.

When would the invasion begin?

And where was their prince?


	2. Chapter 1

_A/N: This fic will be updated on Thursdays. It's an old one that some of you have undoubtedly seen on Livejournal._

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><p>Alfred Jones had never fought a dragon. He had never battled roaring demons upon the peak of a treacherous mountain, nor had he battled an evil wizard to save a damsel in distress. However, he <em>had <em>battled thieves and bandits to protect the people of America, the land south of the great England, beyond the frigid waters of the great sea. He had fought in the guard in his country's capital, among the greatest fighters of his land, against the rebelling forces that had seen fit to set flame to their fine country. He had fought alongside his countrymen, his nerves of steel earning praise from his commanders and political leaders, and his good-natured attitude even gaining the favor of men and women alike.

He was a hero. Everyone said so. He embraced the idea of heroism; he had battled evil goats as a child, dodging their horns and hopping on their backs to challenge his brother to a duel, much like the knights of old. They would joust with sticks and wooden swords, beating each other until the time before the sun went down, and they would go to bed. He would dream of damsels in distress, and riding away into the sunset with a beautiful woman nestled between his arms on the back of his great steed, her hair fluttering in the calm breezes on the shore of America, the fine strands caressing his jaw as her head rested against his collarbone.

Of course, time passed, and that vision from his childhood would likely never come to fruition.

He had left America. Her bright shores had faded into the distance soon after he had turned eighteen and boarded a ship to England. He had heard about the country's vast plains, and while he knew they could never compare to those of his homeland, he had wanted to see it. He had _needed_ to see it. He hadn't felt truly needed in America, and while leaving family was difficult, he hadn't felt as though he were betraying his country. He was just following his heart.

He traveled light. He had exchanged his currency and boarded a ship with his faithful horse (a bay by the name "Comanche") and some clothes. He had a sword and scabbard affixed to one side of the saddle, while he kept a pistol under his long jacket, safely tucked into his belt. None of the crew members had asked questions as he joked with his fellow passengers and helped with the heavy work, though they did question why he had brought along "that crazy nag," considering the horse tried to bite anyone that neared it.

He had left them at the docks when they had landed, leading his horse through the city and letting it adjust to the land after the long voyage on the sea. He had waved at the people passing by, and stopped briefly to buy a map from one of the general stores. There had been no questions, but there had been odd looks when they heard his accent. Some had asked his name, and he had shrugged when he had been asked about his trade.

Fours hours at a brisk pace and he would be in the next town, where he could get a room in an inn. The general store owner had marked out the inns with stables, and luckily there were stables in most major towns. He would have to camp out occasionally, but he really _did_ like sleeping out in the air. He wondered if the stars in England were the same stars that sparkled above America, and knew that someday he would have to find out. He eagerly waited for that time.

The ride to the next town took just over four hours (as he had predicted), and Alfred spent his first night in England drinking with the people of the town. Comanche had been settled in the stable, a warning left to the hands that he loved to greet people with his teeth, and Alfred had gone to the local pub to drink. It had been fun, watching the barmaids maneuver through the crowds with full mugs of ale, the golden liquid and the foam dripping over the sides and onto the ground. After an hour, the barmaid was accompanied by one of the tenders, to protect her "virtue" from the customers that were beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol.

Alfred just watched and grinned, then he continued drinking, enough to sustain him while he finally went to bed. He left the inn the next morning, food in his saddle bags and his stomach full of breakfast.

England was a quiet place. He rode through the lands gleefully, Comanche's feet dancing atop the swaying grass, the birds chirping above. He met few other travelers, though there were plenty of bandits that he had defeated and dragged along to the nearest town, to the nearest person that could deal with their unruliness. He turned nineteen in a small pub in a town called Farminton, and it was soon after that his adventures in England really began, after a time of turmoil and a looming war.

He had not failed to miss the soldiers that rode about, sweeping through the towns and villages. He passed cavalries on horseback, watched the knights that occupied the towns by the shore. He had heard about the missing prince, and wondered at how quickly order could fall to chaos. People panicked. What would they do, when the heir to the throne was missing? It appeared that the enemy didn't have him, as the Danes were still hunting for their target while warring with the older members of the family.

Alfred had avoided conflict as best as he could. He still protected himself and villages from the disgusting bandits that made their living through looting every house, and through his travels he could hear the discontent, and the fear. He could hear the tremble in the voices of women and children alike, and he could also hear the worry and doubt in the men.

For weeks, the country was in fear. For weeks, he traveled alone, Comanche keeping his head held high and his steps light. And for weeks, the search for the prince continued, the knights and cavalry relentless in their efforts.

It was five weeks after the prince's disappearance that Alfred's life changed.

"Hold tight, an' I'll get the fire up and going," Alfred said loudly as he stripped the tack from Comanche's body. The horse snorted at him and rubbed its nose against the tree it was tied to, trying to reach that sweet spot that Alfred had found so long ago. Alfred let him go at it, feeling that the distraction would keep the stallion out of his hair while he set up camp.

The bed roll was the first thing laid out on the ground, mere feet from the stone ring that he had set up to contain the fire. He carefully set out a small package of salted meat that he had grabbed at the last town, and then he lit the branches within the ring. He hummed as he did so, pulling the meat from the package and setting it on a rock where it could collect the heat and begin to cook.

Once he felt that the meat was situated properly, he climbed to his feet and walked over to Comanche. The horse bobbed his head and angled his eyes to watch him approach, and Alfred loosened the rope to let him wander. It was only then that he felt the eyes watching him from the depths of the forest around him.

Alfred remained in control. He wasn't sure what to make of this feeling. While the feeling of being watched made his hair stand on end, and while it may feel ominous, it didn't feel hostile. If anything, it was almost curious. Like a small animal. He thought of a dog, or something similar, and had half a mind to turn and look for it. Of course, he didn't really want to leave his campfire to hunt down a small animal, so he simply sat back beside the fire and watched it burn.

The feeling of being watched didn't leave him as he waited for the meat to cook, and he found himself scanning the trees and bushes for anything that seemed out of place. Nothing jumped out at him, and he turned over the meat on the rock. Then he reached into his bag and pulled out a couple small sticks, so that he could stake the meat and put it over the fire. The feeling of being watched never left him, and he looked around again, putting the sticks down next to the stone with the meat.

As he scanned the trees around him, something yellow caught his eye. It was faint, just a small spot. He wasn't sure why he noticed it, and he stared at it, narrowing his eyes in thought. It took him a moment to realize what he was looking at, and then his mouth dropped open. At the same time, the eyes that he had been staring at in the bushes bolted, and the small child was running away from him.

Alfred wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, but the thought of a small child in the forest, _alone_, spurred him into action. He ran after the child, cutting through the trees and shoving hanging branches out of his face. He jumped over a log, trying to keep the child in sight.

"H-hey! Stop running!" Alfred shouted, ducking down below a hanging branch. He had to admit, the kid was a fast runner, and he was small. It was perfect for this kind of location, and if Alfred were a weak runner, he would have lost him.

But Alfred was quick to catch up. He finally overcame the panting child, and he swept him up into his arms. The child immediately started to beat at him with flailing arms, his face scrunched up and his mouth opening and closing with enraged squeals.

"Who-whoa! It's alright! I'm just-_stop hitting me_-I'm just trying to help!"

The child didn't stop trying to bludgeon him, and Alfred pinned him to his chest. The child was forced to stop moving, and a tense silence fell over them. The child breathed heavily into Alfred's battered jacket, short gasping breaths that showed how hard he had run to escape the man that had caught him.

"Where're you from?" Alfred muttered, and after a few minutes, he loosened his grip on the child. "There aren't any villages around here." It was at that point that Alfred finally managed to look at the child in his arms. He didn't like what he saw.

The child was thin. The rags on him (they were too torn and tattered to be called clothes) hung loosely over his tiny frame, and his body was obviously malnourished. His face, which should have been plump like every youth, was sunken and dirty, with grime coating the boy's cheeks and forehead. Two lines had been formed, making a trail from his eyes to his chin, and Alfred found himself feeling sick.

How long had the child been lost in the woods?

"We have to get you something to eat," Alfred muttered, and he turned back carefully. Feeling the child's tiny figure in his arms, he felt guilty for grabbing him so suddenly. He was sure it must have hurt. "You like beef? I bought some from the store. It's over there, cooking. Or, y'know, I have crackers! You like crackers? I have bread, too!"

The child never answered him, and Alfred found that he was burrowing into his coat to escape the cold. His face was pressed against his chest, his fingers twisted into his shirt. Alfred wasn't sure what to do about the new... _problem_. Anyone else would've left him to die in the forest, but he could never bring himself to abandon someone like that. Especially a child.

The child was unwilling to remove himself from Alfred's coat when he sat, so Alfred had to work extra hard not to jostle him as he pushed the meat onto the sticks and then hung them in the fire. He then dug through his bags, trying to find crackers and bread for the child, ignoring the horse that was looking at him pointedly with an expression that clearly said "I'm not carrying another fucking human on my back."

"Here," Alfred said when he finally found a small package of crackers in his bag. He held it next to the child still attached to his chest, waving it and trying to entice the boy into letting go of his shirt and using his hand to grab the snacks instead. When that didn't work, he resorted to pressing the cracker against the child's lips.

The child latched on immediately, chewing on the food while still refusing to release Alfred's shirt. Alfred used his free hand to turn the meat, then he rummaged through his bag again, searching for the blanket he knew was there. His fingers touched it and he slowly pulled it out, some other cooking supplies falling out when he finally freed it. He carefully wrapped it around the boy's shoulders, careful not to get it in the fire, and the boy finally hesitantly released Alfred's clothing. Instead, the boy fisted his hands into the blanket and pulled it tightly around him. He made a small sound, deep in his throat and rather high-pitched, and Alfred swallowed.

Didn't most five-year-olds talk?

"What's your name?" Alfred asked him. The child blinked at him, and Alfred finally noticed how large his eyebrows were. He was surprised he had missed them before, especially since he had been staring at the boy's eyes for a few minutes before he had first taken off. The boy obviously knew how to use them; he was now watching Alfred suspiciously, the brows lowered over his green eyes as he glowered.

"I'll find out," Alfred promised when the boy didn't answer his question. "We'll find your home and everything. See, I'm a great hero from America! You've probably never heard of it, but that's alright! I'll protect you, like..." Alfred rolled his eyes back in thought. "Like a big brother or something! How's that sound?"

The child stared at him for a moment, then looked towards Alfred's bag. Alfred took that as a cue to hand him another cracker, and the boy ate it in wonder, relishing the taste of the bland snack. Alfred pulled the sticks from the fire and tore a piece of meat off, holding it out to the child. The boy took it without a thought, popping it in his mouth and chewing vigorously.

"Careful! Don't choke!" Alfred laughed, but he could feel himself dying a little inside.

How long had it been since the child had last eaten? And how long had he been alone?

"Everything's gonna be alright," Alfred mumbled as he handed another piece of meat to the child. He watched as the child rolled it around in his mouth, his suspicious attitude giving way to pure bliss. "I'm gonna take care of you. Promise."


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Here's a surprise chapter for Easter because I said so. Enjoy.

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><p>The boy never made a sound that night. He kept a tight hold on Alfred's blanket, his large green eyes watching every move that Alfred made. In the coming darkness, he began to shiver violently, and eventually refused the crackers and meat that Alfred offered him. He drank little water, and instead stared into the flames of the fire while Alfred finished eating his supper.<p>

"You want more to eat?" Alfred asked, but the child simply continued to shiver by the fire, not looking back while Alfred arranged the blankets on his bedroll. Alfred pulled off his jacket and set it up by his discarded boots, and he pulled the blankets over him. He stretched his arms out, smiling at the boy. "Tired?"

The boy watched him suspiciously, then slowly picked himself up and stumbled his way over, the blanket dragging in the dirt. Alfred caught him in his arms and rubbed his hands carefully over his back to try and warm him, his fingers feeling every ridge of his spine even through the dense material. He wondered how the child had been able to run away from him so quickly; adrenaline could only go so far.

The child eagerly crawled under Alfred's blankets, his shivering slowing slightly as he found more warmth. Alfred wasn't sure _what_ he was supposed to do, but he knew that he had to do something. The child before him was half-starved, neglected, scared and cold. Fighting bandits wouldn't make the child healthy and boisterous, yet that was what he could do.

Alfred tightened his grip on the child, and found that he had already fallen asleep. He ran his hand back up and down the child's spine, and he took a deep breath. Clothes. The boy needed clothes. He needed something that wasn't torn beyond repair. He also needed shoes, and a bath. And food. Food was the most obvious thing that he needed.

The child shifted slightly, his lips a pout even in sleep, and Alfred slowly shut his eyes. He would think more about it in the morning.

Morning came with the sounds of birds, crickets, and a very disgruntled horse. Alfred opened his eyes slowly, his arms cramped from the awkward position of holding a child, and he found himself looking into one of the nostrils of his horse.

Comanche was nudging him, searching for food or something to chew on. He stared groggily at him, and the memories of the night before slowly returned to him. He looked down to find the small child trembling in fear, his wide eyes locked on the great beast standing above them.

"It's just Comanche," Alfred muttered, and the child glanced at him briefly before returning his eyes to the horse. Alfred raised one of his hands and brushed the horse lightly, making it snort and stomp away.

The child tried to hide under the blankets.

"It's alright," Alfred grumbled, and he slowly sat up. He rotated his shoulders, working the kinks out and hearing the cracks in his back as he stretched. "Gonna make some breakfast, then we'll get going. Sound good?"

Of course the child didn't answer. He just sat back and stared as Alfred went to work, getting the fire going again and pulling more meat from his bag to cook. The boy munched on crackers while he waited, and Alfred decided that he would just talk to him until he could think of something better to do. So he told him about his plans to reach Ellis by noon, so that they could get clothes and food, as well as a room at the inn. He also asked about his name, where his family was, anything to try and get a reaction. Nothing worked beyond the tiny pieces of meat that he fed the child. The child obviously loved the feeling of having something of substance in his tiny stomach, after a long period where Alfred imagined he only ate berries.

"You like that?" Alfred asked when he finished packing his bedroll and shoved his blankets into the saddlebags. He had packed everything away and was waiting for the boy to finish chewing on the meat so that they could leave. "There's more in the next town. They have beds there, and a huge house for horses, and places to eat!"

The child didn't appear interested in anything that Alfred was saying. He had moved on to licking his fingers, and protested with indignant squeals when Alfred lifted him and plopped him on the front of the saddle.

"We have to get going," Alfred told him when he swung up into the saddle. "Feels like a frost's coming. Can't afford to get sick, right?"

The child tugged on the horse's mane, and when Alfred gave a quick tap to the horse's side, they were moving. The boy gasped and grabbed for the saddle horn in front of him, and Alfred laughed. The child watched the terrain pass by, and jumped when Alfred clucked his tongue and prompted the horse to run faster.

It soon became apparent that it would be late afternoon, possibly evening before they reached Ellis. The child was not a great travel companion. He needed multiple bathroom breaks, and Alfred had to stop many times to pick berries and pull food out of the packs for him. The child had warmed up to him rather quickly, and while he really didn't care for Comanche (after the horse had grabbed the blanket he carried around and pulled it away), he was willing to let Alfred set him up on the saddle and hold him steady while they traveled.

The child really began to show his curiosity when they stepped foot into Ellis. The skies were becoming darker, and the child's head frantically spun back and forth as he tried to take in everything at once. "You like it?" Alfred asked him, and the child clung tighter to the saddle horn. Alfred swung himself down and left him in the saddle, one hand on the reins and the other holding the boy's leg and keeping him in the saddle. Alfred looked up at the blanket-covered form with the large eyes peeking from the depths of the material, and he decided that he first needed to get some clothes for the kid.

It didn't take long to find a tailor. Alfred left Comanche at the hitching post and plucked the boy from the saddle, holding him as he walked inside. The woman behind the counter looked up and frowned, letting go of a hem she had been mending.

"I'm guessing you need clothes," she said, patting her hands on her dress and skirting around the counter. "His have been through the wringer, haven't they?"

"Yeah," Alfred said, shifting his weight as the child buried his head into the crook of Alfred's neck. "He was out running around in the woods. Has anyone-"

"-reported a missing child?" The woman looked at him sympathetically, then reached out and lightly touched the boy's head. "If you found him running around in the woods, then his parents're probably gone. Bandits've been tearin' through the place lately. A lotta kids've been orphaned." She stepped to the side and narrowed her eyes. "Y'know, he looks a lot like Kirkland."

"Really?" Alfred hesitated. "Who was that again?"

The woman laughed, his voice like a bell as she flounced away and began to pick through stacks of clothes. "The royal family? The son went missing."

"You think this is-"

"The son's in his twenties, I highly doubt he looks like he should be in diapers." She laughed at him and pulled out a green shirt. "Arthur, his name was."

The child perked up, and Alfred tilted his head. "Arthur?"

"He was the heir." The woman dug through another pile which held various pairs of pants, most of them a cotton material. "He was a... _weird_ lad. Everyone thinks it was stress. He was fighting for th' throne, you know. His cousin wanted it, as did his older brother. Well, his older brother'll probably get it now."

Alfred looked down at the child, who was chewing on his fingers and watching the woman closely. She held up a set of clothes, and Alfred nodded his head, hesitating when the boy started to babble.

"So what's 'is name?"

"Dunno," Alfred muttered, and he turned Arthur so that he could look in his face. "He doesn't talk."

"He's talking now," the woman chuckled, and she waved the clothes in her hands. "These okay?"

"Those're great," Alfred muttered, but he was paying more attention to the boy. "So what's your name?" he muttered, and the child babbled at him, his eyebrows narrowing over his large eyes. "Iggy?" The child glared at him. "Iggy it is, then!"

The woman cocked an eyebrow at him, her mouth twisted into a smile as she gathered together the clothes for the boy and wrapped them in paper. "You have a lot of experience with kids?"

Alfred grinned and began to dig through his pockets for coins. "Better. I _was_ a kid."

The woman shook her head and held her hand out for the money. "I guess you're right. That is better."

Alfred dropped the coins in her hand and collected the clothing. He walked back out to Comanche and popped Iggy up into the saddle, then untied the horse and led them towards the town's inn. Iggy babbled while they walked, and seemed quite content when Alfred handed the horse off to one of the stable hands. Alfred joked with the caretaker and was led to his room, where he promptly changed Iggy out of the rags and into a green shirt and brown cotton pants.

"Those feel good, little man?" Alfred grinned as he played with Iggy's hands, though he was rather unnerved by what the tailor had told him at the shop. What if Iggy had seen his parents die? It would explain why the kid never talked. Alfred let Iggy go and watched him wander the room, playing with the linens and Alfred's bags. When Iggy started chewing on the bed posts, he decided that it was likely time to take him for something to eat, lest he finish off the bed and leave Alfred with a hefty debt to make up.

Alfred was beginning to really like having Iggy around. Yeah, his questionable origins were kind of suspicious (and a little bit disconcerting), but he liked having company. After all, Comanche wasn't much of a talker. And he liked to bite people (of course at dinner, Iggy tried biting Alfred numerous times, so he and Comanche had that much in common). Iggy, on the other hand, was _fun_. They had spent barely a day together, but Iggy had personality, a personality that was endearing and fun, and would have been intimidating had he been an adult. Alfred could only imagine how he would grow up.

They ate dinner in a tavern down the road, some unidentifiable meat that the barmaid had given then. She had dropped a mug of ale on the table for Alfred, and a cup of milk that Iggy had immediately drained. When she had gotten him a refill, he had refused to drink it, suddenly turning red and picking at the meat and vegetables on the plate before him. Alfred tried to pull him into conversation; he failed miserably at it, but he did enjoy making the child listen to him. Even if Iggy would roll his tiny eyes and stuff one of the hard bread rolls into his mouth, forcing Alfred to reach forward and pop it back out before he could choke.

"I'm going to the capital," Alfred told him eagerly as he tore apart the role that Iggy had his eyes on, handing him the smaller pieces. "I'm going to check out the sights and all that fun stuff. And I hunt, too. Get bounties for thieves. I can't with you around, but I have enough saved up for a while." Alfred paused to take another whole roll out of the child's mouth, and Iggy pouted at him. He broke the roll into pieces and dropped them on the plate before him, an attempt to prevent the child from choking himself.

"I don't get how anyone could leave a kid like you parent-less in the woods," Alfred mumbled as he picked at his plate with his fork, then popped a pepper into his mouth. "What's wrong with people? Why do they have t' attack mothers an' their kids?"

Iggy ignored his questions and chewed on the bread. Alfred wondered if he should try to stop him from eating too much, wondered if too much food after such neglect would be unhealthy, but he couldn't force himself to tear the content grin from the boy's face. Iggy looked so happy when he was eating. He didn't scowl or whine, except when it looked as though someone was going to take what he was interested in eating. He never put up a fuss, and became easier to handle. He didn't fight. He just relaxed, rolled the food around on his tongue, and then swallowed.

"You must've come from a really smart family," Alfred mumbled, setting his elbow on the table and using it to prop up his chin. "Kinda funny like that. Cute, too."

Iggy ignored him, and Alfred slowly took another bite of his food. It never took long to eat. He always finished his food, went to bed, and left at the first light. However, Iggy was already starting to change that. Alfred thought it would be rather nice to sleep in the next day. Heck, he didn't have to rush all the way to the capital. He could take his time, take Iggy sightseeing. Surely the kid hadn't seen a lot in his short life. He would start the next stage of his life with Alfred, and then they would see where it went from there.

Iggy was thoroughly enjoying the meal when the barmaid passed by, but then there was a crash. The barmaid had been caught unaware by a misplaced leg, and glass mugs flew everywhere. There were loud crashes as glass broke and a table was knocked over, and then people were cursing and stomping around. Iggy had jumped up and was sniffing, his entire body trembling violently as he looked around in alarm. Alfred stood and carefully gripped under his arms, lifting him from his spot and setting him back down in his lap, where Iggy immediately burrowed into his shirt to try and escape the chaos and disorder that was temporarily consuming the inside of the tavern.

"It's okay," Alfred assured him, trying to coax him out of his shirt with a piece of bread. "She just tripped. You're alright."

But Iggy would have none of it. He remained with his face pressed against Alfred's chest, his tiny body shaking with the fear, and Alfred had to pack up their dinners and start the journey back to the inn.

Alfred had booked a room with two beds, but it was obvious that Iggy wasn't willing to sleep alone. Alfred attempted to situate him in the other bed, but the boy had fallen out almost immediately and gone running to him. Alfred tried a second time, but that time Iggy managed to make his escape far more gracefully, and he had burrowed himself under the covers and up next to the warmth of the man from America.

He had given up on trying to separate them, and had let his eyes close, his arms wrapped loosely around the bony body. Sleep then took him, while he wondered what the future would hold for him and the little stranger. He dreamed of a hand touching his hair gently, but never saw the man that stood above his bed, looking down at him with worried eyes. He never heard the "Oh, dear," from that man's lips, nor did he hear the sound of a blade digging into wood.

He just tightened his arms around the form that rested against him, dreaming of adventure and discovery.


	4. Chapter 3

Alfred woke late the next morning. He was surprised. He had always woken around the same time, like there was a timer within his body that deemed when it was appropriate to wake, eat, and go to sleep. He blinked when he woke, and looked towards the window by the foot of the bed. The sun wasn't all the way up in the sky, but it had been at least two hours since it had risen, and two hours since he was supposed to wake up.

But the bundle in his bed wasn't willing to wake up. When Alfred moved, Iggy followed him in his sleep, his little fists clenched tightly around his shirt so that when one moved, the other was dragged along. It took some time for Alfred to pry the little bugger's hands off, and then he grabbed at the pack by his bed and began to sort through clothes. A brown shirt and black pants for when Iggy woke up, and black pants and a blue shirt for him. He changed there, then looked back towards Iggy. He had to wake him up and get him ready to go. And they had to have some breakfast before they left.

"Hey, Iggy." Alfred touched the child's shoulder, but the boy sighed and turned over in his sleep. "C'mon, Iggy. We have to get going. I wanna hit Bard tonight. They have this awesome inn, with a tavern right next door. Least, that's what the barmaid said last night." When Iggy refused to open his eyes, Alfred picked him up and threw the covers back.

Iggy flailed as though his life depended on it. He gave little shrieks when Alfred began to tickle his stomach with a hand, his fingers bumping against ribs, and then Iggy was grabbing at blankets, scrambling away from him with giggles and trying to escape under the bed. Alfred dove down after him with a smile, and reached under the bed. He hesitated when his hand touched a sharp point in the floor, and then he lifted the blankets to look under.

Iggy was watching him from the depths of under-the-bed with a grin, his teeth seeming to shine in the darkness formed by the blankets around the bed. He didn't even notice the floor before him, that was scratched up and marked with what looked like a pentagram in a circle. Alfred brushed his hands along the newly-scratched pattern, flicking aside the wood dust from the grooves, and then he reached in and pulled Iggy out.

"Time t' get dressed and ready!" he said cheerfully. Iggy pouted while Alfred carted him around the room, picking up clothes and changing him without putting him down. Alfred was sure that putting him down would successfully end his attempts to change him, and Iggy was obviously rather peeved that his escape plans had been thwarted. "So, what d'you want for breakfast? I bet they have eggs!"

Alfred grabbed their things and shoved them into bags, then left the room behind. Iggy clung to his neck and turned his head back and forth, looking at the dark wooden walls and the patrons that roamed the halls. He couldn't keep his attention on one thing for more than a few seconds before he was searching for something else to gape at. He couldn't even keep his attention on his food during breakfast, and Alfred had to pack up most of it to feed him during the ride to Bard.

Iggy still hadn't warmed up to Comanche, and most of the nine-hour ride to Bard consisted of him babbling in a low voice. Alfred imagined that he was cursing the fact that he had to ride on a dirty horse that bit people, and the thought made him grin above Iggy's tousled blond hair. Comanche didn't give much fuss during the journey, either. The horse had come to accept the fact that the runt was sticking around, and that he would have to deal with having the child on his back, even when Alfred dismounted and walked beside him to give him a break.

"We probably shouldn't go back to Ellis again," Alfred mused. "I don't like that inn. Looked like some weird people went through, with the symbols and everything." Alfred kicked at a rock in the path, and Iggy looked down at him from where he was perched in the saddle. "Everyone's been paranoid since that Arthur guy disappeared. That's why the inn was so empty. Everyone's scared 'cause some bad people're trying to come over." Alfred grinned and tapped his thumb to his chest. "But don't worry. _I'm_ a hero, so no one'll get you."

Iggy didn't appear to care about Alfred's hero complex. He was looking around quickly, alarmed that they were leaving the openness of the plains for a heavily wooded trail that was surrounded by thick pines and darkness. Alfred continued talking, then looked up quickly when he heard an "oof!" Iggy had leaned over a bit too far, his tiny fingers reaching out for Alfred's shirt, and he tumbled off the horse and into Alfred's outstretched arms.

"Lonely?" Alfred laughed, and he stuffed the ends of the reins into his pocket so that he could hold onto Iggy while he walked. Comanche was pleased by the missing weight and there was an extra spring to his step. Iggy sighed contentedly and let his chin rest on Alfred's shoulder, while he watched the twisting trail disappear behind them. He mumbled into Alfred's ear, the nonsensical ramblings of a child that didn't know spoken language, and Alfred would ask him questions to answer in order to make himself appear more interested and a better listener than he was.

It was on that trail that they met a mysterious stranger with an ego that rivalled Alfred's own, possibly even surpassing it. The man stopped them on the trail, his red eyes glistening in the rays of light that managed to breach the leafy canopy above. Alfred wasn't sure what to say to the other when he asked directions, and he had opened up his map to gesture vaguely. He didn't know when the other had picked Iggy up from where Alfred had set him on the ground, claiming that he would be an "awesome big brother" and would make him an "awesome soldier" if he had the chance. All he knew was that he had to catch the falling child when the albino began to curse in another language, holding a bleeding finger and cursing "demon children" and their sharp teeth.

Iggy was quite content to snuggle in Alfred's arms, yawning and pressing his face into Alfred's shirt. Alfred attempted to apologize to the other despite the fact that the albino was obviously at fault, but the other would have none of it. He stormed away and refused further contact, cursing his ill luck and unlucky job. Alfred watched him leave, caught between calling out to him and taking care of the child in his arms. Of course Iggy won (he always would), and Alfred had to juggle him while he set his foot in the stirrup and swung himself up. Iggy fell asleep when Alfred pulled blankets from the pack, all while wondering if so much sleep was good for the boy.

Iggy slept most of the way to Bard. He was woken when Alfred swung down from the horse just miles outside the village, and Iggy immediately demanded a bathroom break, one that Alfred was all too willing to give. He guided him just off the path and turned around while he went, keeping his eyes on the horse that waited impatiently by the road. When Iggy finally finished, he wrapped his tiny arms around Alfred's leg and looked up, his bright green eyes filled with something Alfred was hesitant to describe. He wanted to say "love," but "adoration" seemed far more appropriate in the current situation.

They returned to their ride and finished the journey to Bard, arriving as night was falling. Their horse was taken to a stable once more, and Alfred collected the key to their room before he dragged Iggy to the tavern. Again, they ate foods of questionable origin, but the conversation was interesting enough that Alfred didn't pay attention. Instead, Alfred listened to the rumors and gossip, and though he had distanced himself from the troubles of the land, he couldn't help but feel slight concern at what he was hearing.

England was being invaded. Yes, it was only a rumor, but the idea of invasion was scary. Especially the extent of the invasion. Only the best of the Danes were invading, their arrivals shrouded in complete secrecy. People claimed that the Danish prince had even come to search for the head of Kirkland, intending to present it to the royal family and scare them from their throne. Other countries had apparently joined with the Danes, wanting to take the coveted land of the English, and even they were sending their best under the cover of darkness.

With so many sides and conflicting parties, it would be impossible for England to remain at peace. And Alfred understood that he, as a foreign traveller, was in danger. Especially with a child in tow. He tightened his grip on Iggy's little hand, and the child looked up at him, confusion and concern evident in those large eyes.

"We should head out," Alfred muttered, and he lifted the boy. Iggy let his legs hang down as Alfred moved him around, giggling once when Alfred's hand touched his stomach. He let himself be carried back into the inn, ogling at the patrons of the tavern as they passed, and then he started to reach out for things as he passed them. The wall, the pot of flowers, anything that he thought he would be able to wrap his tiny fingers around. He was unable to drag anything along with him, and finally he was set on the floor in their room. He looked around, and jumped when Alfred managed to force a different shirt on him and changed him for sleep.

Like the night before, Iggy refused to sleep in a bed that didn't have Alfred in it, and the American mourned the wasted money spent on the two-bed room. But it was rather nice having the child cling to him, his eyes lighting whenever Alfred looked at him, his tiny hands clenching and unclenching in panic whenever Alfred tried to ignore him. Alfred wasn't sure what to make of it. He wanted to blame the personality and attitude on the loss of the parents, but he was having difficulty justifying that. Would the loss of parents make a young boy that dependent on love? Even if he had lost his parents, maybe there had been something else missing from the "complete" family. He tried not to think too hard about it, as the little boy climbed into bed with him and got as close as he could, holding onto his shirt and breathing deeply.

That night, Alfred dreamt of finding a missing child in the woods. No shadows came, no one touched his head. He woke to chirping birds and a disgruntled Iggy, the birds celebrating morning and the child demanding food. He packed before going to the tavern with the boy, then he took his prepared horse from a stable hand. He wasted no time in setting his packs on the horse's back, then he set Iggy in the saddle and swung up behind him. The boy seemed eager for the day to begin, and gestured wildly to the point of almost falling off. Alfred's laughter received a glare, and the boy huffed while Alfred talked about the wolves that someone had said were in the area, preying on small animals and probably willing to eat a small child if it came down to it. He laughed it off as the talk of lonely travellers, but Iggy didn't seem to care either way. Hell, Iggy probably had no idea what was going on.

It was just as well. Panicking the poor child wouldn't be very wise, especially when said child always insisted on bathroom breaks in the middle of the very woods those wolves were said to come from. It was the forth bathroom break of the day, and it was nearing nightfall. Alfred had decided to camp out that night, and had the camp set up, when Iggy approached at a run, screaming at the top of his tiny lungs. He threw himself at Alfred and buried his nose in Alfred's coat, in time for Alfred to see a dog approaching. A well-fed dog that obviously didn't belong in the forest.

Alfred shooed the dog to appease the child, and when Iggy refused to listen, he gently began to brush his fingers through the boy's hair. It was a calming motion, and Alfred let himself fall into his bedroll when Iggy finally slept. He finally shut his eyes, and let sleep take him once more.

Once more, a man stood above them. His hands were clenched into fists that would likely never come apart, and his mouth was a thin line. "Too much."


	5. Chapter 4

Alfred would never be able to tell what had woken him. Whether it was the rustling of an animal in the forest, or the running water of a nearby stream, he would never be able to identify the cause. He looked around, wide awake and aware of the fact that he would not be able to fall back asleep if he tried. Iggy was still beside him, shifting slightly when Alfred sat up and stretched his arms above his head.

A light. There was a light in the trees.

Alfred looked down at the sleeping child and hesitated. His hand brushed the blade that was always kept by his head, and he chewed on his lower lip. He wanted to go see it, but he didn't dare leave Iggy alone. He didn't want to think about what would happen if the child was left to his own devices, and he didn't want to think about the surge in travellers in the area.

Alfred pulled on his belt slowly, trying not to make a sound. He positioned his scabbard, and then lifted Iggy, cradling him in his arms. Comanche didn't wake, and he crept through the trees and brush, closer to the stream and the light. He held Iggy with a single hand and let his free arm hang down, fingers remaining on the hilt of the sword. Iggy breathed out, whined slightly and stretched his limbs. At the noise, the light seemed to swell and burst, and Alfred froze, just in the woods that surrounded the small shores of the stream. His blue eyes were locked with the bewildered emerald eyes of an angel.

Alfred had never seen anything so beautiful. The angel's wings were large, and feathers drifted down into the water from where the man's hands had frozen in the process of tending to them. Silver feathers, white, gold, all drifted down the stream, like the small boats that the faeries of lore would travel in. The feathers sparkled in the darkness, and the water reflected their light. The angel looked as though he were floating on a cloud.

The angel started running.

"H-hey!" Alfred shouted, and he tried to follow. The angel splashed through the water, running away as quickly as he could while Alfred followed on the shore. Iggy had woken at some point, and he watched the angel with fascination as they pursued it. "I just- I just wanna talk!" But the angel leapt from the water and through the trees. Alfred lost it in the darkness of the forest, and he stood silently, his eyes wide with wonder. Iggy tried to curl into his shirt, and Alfred swallowed.

He had to return to their camping site. He had left everything there, and it would be rather depressing if he returned to find everything gone. He sighed and held Iggy closer as he turned and trekked back to the campsite. He was unable to forget the sight of that angel, standing in the middle of the stream, picking at the loose feathers of his wings. Crying.

Try not to think about it. That was the most he could do. It was unlikely he would ever see another angel, he should just remember the beauty and the feeling of peace. He shouldn't remember the ominous feeling of being watched.

By the time Alfred returned to the campsite, Iggy had fallen back asleep. Comanche snorted at his return, almost as if he were scolding him for running off. Alfred carefully positioned himself (and Iggy) back under the blankets and turned over to sleep.

The morning came too soon, and Alfred was woken by a snorting horse and a child that poked and prodded him for food. He tried to ignore Iggy's prods, but then the child found a stick somewhere and he had to get up for fear of losing an eye. Iggy was rather pleased with the discovery of his stick, and the fact that said stick could get him anything he wanted. The child refused to let go of the stick, and prodded Alfred in the legs when he wanted to be carried or coddled. Alfred wasn't sure he liked Iggy's discovery, but he said nothing about it. He was more concerned about eating and leaving the area as soon as possible, because when he had looked around, he had found upside-down pentagrams carved into a great number of trees.

The pentagrams weren't the only unwelcome signs. Alfred packed quickly and fled the forest, only to be met by soldiers. He wasn't afraid of them; he knew from the trees etched into their armor that they were England's finest warriors. But their message worried him. They had called out to him, likely prepared to try and convince him to join them. Then they had seen Iggy hiding in the blanket before Alfred, watching them with suspicious eyes.

The Danes had finally taken to the sea. They were planning to take England. Every hour that passed brought them closer to their home, and every hour felt like a step closer to the grave. People were scared. The royal family was preparing the army for a war. People were going to die. Alfred listened and worried, his hands tightening around Iggy involuntarily. He had to get to another town, and find a place to stay. It wouldn't be wise to sleep outside for too many nights, with the threat of war looming overhead. What would happen if someone stumbled upon him with Iggy? An enemy would run the child through in a heartbeat, with no regard to the fact that he had been orphaned and saved. They would simply see him as a child of the enemy, and therefore guilty of their crimes.

Alfred rode out. He didn't dare pause, and he ignored Iggy's pathetic whines for attention as he thundered through the forests and plains. He would pause briefly to gather food for the child, but then he would be off just as quickly. It was supposed to take a week to reach the capital, but with the pace he had picked up, he could make it in three days. He was determined to make it in three days. He couldn't afford to sleep on the ground outside for seven.

They barely slept that night. Rather, Iggy slept like a log, and Alfred stayed up, keeping watch in his paranoia. He didn't dare risk falling asleep and losing track of the child, and possibly leaving himself open for the agents of Denmark that were rumored to have already arrived. And when morning came, he quickly packed Iggy up once more and set off, a piece of bread in his mouth while Iggy played with a small branch of wildberries.

He began to discover that his quick pace was impossible to keep up with a child. Iggy had dealt with it the day before, but now he protested it, crying and babbling, hitting his tiny little fists on the horn of the saddle and trying to untie the bags slung over the pommel. Alfred was forced to stop more, and was already recalculating how long it would take. Five days, maybe six. Still longer than felt safe.

He hated letting Iggy leave his sight. He went everywhere with him when they took a break, whether Iggy was hunting for berries or a small stream to splash his hands in; but Iggy was adamant about getting as far away from Alfred as possible when he had to go. Alfred would have rather stood on the opposite side of the bush from Iggy, out of sight but close, however Iggy wouldn't allow it. It was something the boy regretted rather quickly.

Howls and yips erupted from the forest, and Alfred tore through the trees, already drawing his blade, his other hand lingering near his pistol. Arthur was out there. With those animals. Screaming, and crashing through the trees. He should never have let him wander so far. Alfred almost tripped over the boy when he found him, and he brought his sword down. His strike missed, but the message was clear to the pack of rabid dogs before him: He was far more fierce than a mother bear, and he would not step down from a fight with them. He would tear and slash until he was bathed in blood, but they would never touch the child.

The animals fled, and Iggy threw his arms around Alfred's legs, hiccuping and sniffing. Alfred knelt to lift him while he slid his sword into the scabbard, and the child whined before burying his face in Alfred's shirt. They had to move elsewhere for the night. Alfred would _not_ stay in the same place as animals that had likely had a taste a human flesh, and were eager for more.

They rode into the darkness of the night, and it was some time before Alfred felt safe enough to dismount and quickly set up camp, far off the trail and amidst the trees. He built a tiny fire, just larger than Comanche's hoof, and set up the blankets for Iggy. He would stay up as long as he could, and watch over the tiny child.

However, he had had little sleep, and so it caught him unawares, dragging him into the depths of his subconscious. He ran with his brother, jousted on the back of a goat, mounted Comanche for the first time, the day he turned sixteen, and Comanche three. However, one image stayed in his mind, a vivid memory, one that seemed to glow brighter with every passing moment. Green eyes, thick wings, and tears.

"_If you watch him, he won't die."_

It was then that Alfred realized he was no longer dreaming. The tears were gone, but the angel was before him, seated on a stump. He was slouched down, his elbow on his knee and his chin cupped in his hand. He faintly recalled a hand brushing his hair in his drowsy state, low mutterings, and then he had reached out for the source. The result of the event he had thought was a dream sat before him.

"What?"

"You said you were worried the kid was going to die," the angel grumbled, trying to shake his arm free of Alfred's hand. "Just watch him, and he won't die. Now can you let me go?"

Alfred didn't release him. He just stared, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. The angel's eyebrows were thick, a lot like Iggy's, but a lot bigger. He was kinda thin, no muscles to speak of, really. "You're an angel," he mumbled, and the man across from him scowled. "Didn' know... angels..."

"Angels are real, yes. Now let me go."

Alfred didn't. His eyes lowered, and he looked down at Iggy, sleeping peacefully at his side. His steady breathing, the rise and fall of his tiny chest. "Aren' angel s'pposed t' be..." Alfred let his eyes wander back to the white-clothed figure. He wasn't shining like he had the first time. He looked human. He looked real. Yet Alfred still felt so enchanted by the figure, and he turned his hand slightly.

"Dead." The angel ended his unfinished sentence, and then his hand slipped from Alfred's. Alfred tried to reclaim it, but his hand slid through the air. His eyes snapped all the way open at the action, and his jaw dropped, leaving his lips slightly parted. "I'm dead. You're not supposed to touch me." Alfred tried once more, but the angel's hand was nothing but the air before him. Alfred's fingers twisted in the air for something to grab onto, then he let his arm fall back against his side. He couldn't touch him.

"How?" he whispered, needing to know that information, though he couldn't understand why. "How did you die?"

The angel was silent. He watched Alfred carefully, his eyes measuring his reaction. He watched the faint twitching of the fingers, the shivering of his form. "Sleep," he said, his voice soft. It was like listening to a mother's lullaby. "Sleep, and let me watch over you."

Alfred felt himself growing drowsy, and then the angel switched to a foreign tongue that he couldn't ever hope to identify. His eyelids drooped, and then he was gone.

And when he woke, he was alone with a child nestled into his shirt, and no sign that the angel had ever been there.


	6. Chapter 5

Iggy was gaining weight. Three days after meeting the angel, the child's cheeks were still sunken, lacking the plumpness that all children were supposed to have, but his ribs didn't seem to protrude as much as they used to. That, and Alfred could feel the change when he lifted him. It was slight, but it was there.

He had Comanche tied in front of the small bar, and Iggy in his arms. The tiny building was empty save for a single tavern-keeper that was wiping the wooden counter-top with a rag. He looked up briefly, and his gaze passed over Iggy before stopping at Alfred's face. He gestured with his free hand, and Alfred took a seat at the bar.

"Someone told me you have bounties posted here," Alfred said, and he looked around. "Nice place."

"Not many people come through here anymore," the keeper told him. "Not since th' capital." Alfred accepted a drink that the keeper offered, and he let Iggy down onto the floor to explore the tavern. The child disappeared behind around the corner of the counter, and the keeper leaned against it. "So you a hunter?" Alfred nodded, and he chuckled. "With a kid... A damned kid."

"I just found him," Alfred told him with a grin. "He's cute, isn't he? Someone said his parents were probably killed by bandits or something." The keeper stepped back from the counter and disappeared into a back room. When he returned, he was carrying a small jug of milk. He knelt down behind the counter, and Alfred assumed that he was giving it to Iggy. "So what's been happening in the capital?" he asked, finally remembering what the keeper had greeted him with. "Something big happen?"

The keeper stood back up and shrugged, looking down once more before turning his attention to Alfred. "Castle's calling in soldiers and knights from th' farthest points o' the country. Say they're preparin' fer a war. Spies everywhere, ours an' theirs. Danes are s'posed t' already be here, bu' their warships're still sailin'." He sighed. "Th' capital's gonna be first t' go when they land. No one even knows if the king's still there. Prob'ly already gone."

Alfred swallowed. He couldn't take Iggy there, where he would be at risk. While he thought about what he would do, the keeper moved around, setting glasses in place and occasionally looking down. Iggy had begun laughing, and it was obvious he was following the keeper as he worked. "Time to go," he finally decided, and he moved around the counter to pick him up. The keeper watched him silently, then pulled a stack of papers from a drawer in the counter. He handed them to Alfred, and the American looked at him with confusion.

"Those came out a couple weeks ago. They all have prices on their heads. I dunno if y' want t' take any in, but watch out for 'em. I'm sure they wouldn' mind hurtin' a kid with 'is kid." The keeper smiled at his joke, and Alfred nodded his head before leaving. The keeper returned to cleaning, and Alfred let the door swing shut behind him.

He didn't speak as he popped Iggy up into the saddle, then untied Comanche and led him away from the tavern. He shoved the reins in his pocket as he walked, and started to flip through the papers. They were all unruly-looking men, common thugs that were teetering on the edge of (or already past) murder. He kept reading through the posters, only pausing to comfort Iggy when a group of soldiers stormed past on horseback, and then his heart fluttered when he found a poster in the middle of the stack.

There was a name for the man with the red eyes. It was Gilbert Beilschmidt, and he was wanted for entering the country with the intent to murder the prince. Alfred didn't realize he had stopped walking until Comanche snorted, and he looked over quickly. Iggy was leering down at him, patting his hands against the front of the saddle, and Alfred shoved the papers into his saddle bags.

"I'm comin' up," he said, and Iggy scooted forward in the saddle. Alfred put his foot in the stirrup and swung up behind Iggy, then took the reins from where he had left them on Comanche's neck. Iggy settled back against his chest and Alfred clucked his tongue, moving Comanche into a lope and swaying with every stride. Iggy laughed as the air blew against them, and he waved his arms up and down. Alfred would have laughed along with him, but he was thinking of Gilbert, and the prince. People had always said that Iggy looked like the prince, and Iggy also looked like the angel. He wondered what the man had thought, when he had seen a kid that looked so much like his target.

And what the angel had thought when he had looked down at the sleeping child at Alfred's side, a child that mirrored his image almost perfectly. "A brother," Alfred decided, looking down at Iggy with sad eyes. "Or a cousin. Maybe even a nephew." Iggy turned his head and met Alfred's sad eyes with his wide ones, moving his mouth and clucking his tongue. Alfred smiled at him, and his tiny eyes shut with the size of his smile.

Alfred would never admit it to anyone, but he wanted to see that angel again. He wanted answers, and he wanted to know about the angel. Of course, he hadn't thought that he would wake that night, with the angel sitting on a limb of the tree above him, watching him with wary eyes. Neither had spoken. They had stared at each other for a long time, and then the boy covered in the blankets by Alfred's side mumbled something and turned in his sleep.

The noise returned Alfred to his senses. "D'you know him?" he blurted, and the angel frowned. "The kid. Iggy. He looks like you."

The angel blinked, then shook his head. "Can't say that I do. He's a bit young for my tastes."

Alfred hesitated, and he shook his head. Had the angel just made a joke? Or had he been serious? He didn't look like he could ever crack a joke, and that observation slightly alarmed him. He watched as the angel tilted his head curiously, and then he pulled himself up into a sitting position, folding his legs as he carefully extracted himself from Iggy's arms. "Are you still protecting us?"

"Why else would I be here?"

Alfred breathed in the air and sighed, a small smile lighting his face as he looked up to the angel. He let one of his hands pet Iggy's head, and the other cradled his chin while he rested his elbow on his knee. "So why do you keep coming back? You've been here a few times, right? Don't you have things to do?"

The angel looked taken aback by the question, and he looked away. He kept his eyes low as he thought, and chewed his lower lip. "Why _do_ I watch over you?" he wondered, his voice soft. Alfred unconsciously leaned closer to the angel, hanging onto his every word. "I suppose it feels right," he mused. "I have no other reason."

"I remember stories from when I was a kid," Alfred said. He ignored the angel's confusion, and continued speaking, trying to remember. "My brother had this story, about when people die. When you die, you go away, and disappear. You don't exist anymore." He paused and squinted his eyes, staring through the trees and into the darkness. "Why are you still here?"

The angel gave a start, and he almost tumbled from the branch. He caught himself, and Alfred watched as his pale skin turned even whiter in the darkness, an eerie shine in the tops of the trees. His legs swayed in the branches, lightly brushing the wood, and he looked into the distance. Alfred watched in silence, and then he swallowed. The angel looked so _disgusted_ and _pained_ that Alfred almost told him "never mind," that it didn't matter.

However, the angel spoke first. "I don't know," he admitted, and he glared into the distance, his brows low over his eyes. "I don't know how I came to be here... I was riding-" He stopped. His eyes widened slightly, and he raised his hand to cover his lips. "I drowned. _Was_ drowned. Someone held me beneath the river. Couldn't breath. Cold." The angel no longer spoke to Alfred. His eyes were glazed, and his lips moved slowly as he tried to remember, narrating his death with short words and curt observations. "And I woke up. It was dark, so dark." He shook his head. "When I'm not here, it's dark. It's always dark. And the spectres grab, and cling. Don't want to let go. It's like ice, wrapping around your arm, and pulling you back under the surface."

Alfred clenched Iggy tightly in his arms, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear. The sleeping child groaned and turned, and Alfred jumped when there was a rustling in the bushes. The angel had fallen silent, and he looked around as though waking from a dream.

"What _are_ you doing?" the angel asked him, and Alfred laughed, his voice shaking as his body trembled.

"Protecting Iggy, y'know? He might be scared of ghosts, and-"

The angel stared at Alfred as he continued, and his mouth twisted in confusion. "You're scared of ghosts." He ignored Alfred's protests, looking to the sky in confusion and amusement. "But _I'm_ a ghost."

"You're an angel," Alfred was quick to point out. "But Iggy doesn't like to hear ghost stories."

"He's asleep."

Alfred stopped. He looked down at Iggy's peaceful face, then back up at the bemused angel above. He looked conflicted, trying to come to terms with whatever he was dwelling on, and finally he spoke. "You drowned." The angel didn't answer him. He just tilted his head. "You drowned, and you weren't... You weren't, er... You weren't _buried_ right. So, you can't rest. Or something like that, my brother's the one that pays attention to this stuff."

The angel frowned and stepped from the branch, letting himself drift to the ground below. Alfred tried not to appreciate how his body looked in the darkness, and how the tiny halo above his head looked like something fun to play with. "Why does that matter? Burial is not-"

"If we give you a real funeral, then you can pass over. On. Whatever it is." Alfred looked caught between eagerness and fear, and the angel stared at him blankly. "We have to find your body!"

If the angel had expected anything of Alfred, it was not that. He recoiled from the words, his face showing his alarm and shock. He opened his mouth and closed it, reached towards Alfred hesitantly. Alfred tried to touch his hand and assure him that everything would be all right, but his hands passed through the angel's like it had the first time. The angel looked relieved by that fact, and he pulled his hand away and crossed his arms.

"We can do it," Alfred insisted. "I mean, finding where you were riding would be good! Then we could follow it, and bury you, and-"

"I don't remember anything but dying," the angel said, and Alfred froze. He looked down at the ground, and began to pick at the soles of his boots.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

Alfred loosened his grip on Iggy and slowly set him down in the blankets, covering him and watching as the boy grabbed the blankets and pulled them to his chest. "Maybe you'll remember sometime," he muttered. "Then we'll find it. It'll be like a quest, or something. I mean, it'll be better for you, and everything." Alfred reached for his saddle bags as Arthur watched, and he pulled out the sheets of wanted criminals. He flipped through the Gilbert Beilschmidt, then held it up. "D'you know him?" The angel shook his head slowly, and Alfred frowned before returning the papers to his bags. "Well, we'll find something. Definitely, we wi-"

"I don't want you to look."

Alfred stopped speaking. He watched the angel, took in his narrowed eyes and set jaw. He looked almost angry, and he tightened the arms crossed before his chest.

"I don't want to know."

So that was it, then.


End file.
